Smoke, Fires and Vegans
The last few days have been harrowing to say the least. Sitting back watching, what feels like 1/2 my country burning to the ground, is hard enough. But when you’re the type of person who has to help people, it’s even worse. So safe to say my distress levels have been up. I feel Angry, Distressed, Sad, Helpless, Hopeless, and Useless all at the same time. All to varying degrees. Sometimes more sad. Sometimes more helpless. And it’s fueling my frustration anger.
What’s frustration anger? The anger you get when you’re so frustrated you don’t know if you want to cry, scream, throw something or just sit in the corner and rock back and forth. It’s the anger that causes you to say the mean things you don’t mean. The anger that pushes away everyone trying to help you. The anger that isn’t even warranted. But you know if you cry people will feel sorry for you and that’s a bad thing right? Apparently it’s not. I’ve been told that if I ask for help or cry or some other weak arse thing, my life will go smoother and I’ll won’t hurt myself and the people I love.
So how does one ask for help? Who knows? It’s like some people who can’t ask for directions. It’s either something you can or something you can’t do. And that’s the problem with people who have PTSD. They can’t ask for help. We can’t ask for help.
I know a lot of emergency service personnel with PTSD. I’ve got mates who served in Vietnam and subsequent Peace Keeping Missions. I’ve got close friends who are Police who have seen the worst of what people can do to each other. I myself got this way because I watched 100s of people die from Cancer and other terminal illnesses when I was nursing. And the one thing all my PTSD friends have in common? Not one of us asked for help when our mental health was starting to fail. We didn’t ask for help when the nightmares started. Most of us self medicated instead, with things like Alcohol, Gambling and other addictions.
But I digress. Where was I? Oh yes. My country is burning and I’m not doing anything to help.
I wanted to take our truck and help fire affected farmers move their stock to safety. It didn’t matter that I would be risking my life and Chris’s and risking the truck, which in turn would risk our income and livelihood. I just knew I had to do something.
So when the opportunity fell I’m our laps on Friday, we jumped into action. Chris and dad went off and saved 100 goats and their guard donkey. Our vet had been evacuated, but had had no way of getting her goats out of the fire zone. So the boys went and loaded them and rove them 2 hours to our farm where the are now safely penned and enjoying a holiday. What was my payment? The unspeakable gratitude that shone in her eyes as the tears rolled own her cheeks. I don’t have a lot of summer feed for my sheep and horses. But I am willing to share wha little I have with someone who has less.
And then just as I was regaining some of my “I helped someone self esteem” I was told by a vegan from another country, that my country is burning because I’m a livestock farmer and because of my diet choices. Well. You think I gave Chris a hard time in the last episode? This guy got Jemima both barrels, had the hide to come back at her (me) and got hit with a second round of pure venom. Cunty McWankstain, as I’ve now christened him, no longer has a place in my life. In the end I realised my life was a better place without him and he is now floating in the “blocked on Facebook” abyss. So long arsehole.